Angels Deserve to Die
by Scarecrowqueen
Summary: Draco and Harry are in over their heads... but maybe together they'll find a way... HD SLASH, language and mild implied noncon. COMPLETED!
1. It Starts With One

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and Co. they belong to the great J.K. Rowling. However, all ideas and situations not described in the book series are my own, so no stealing!  
Warning: THIS STORY CONTAINS SLASH!!! MALE/MALE ROMANCE AND SEXUAL INNUENDO!!! (I'm not an NC-17 writer...yet.)  
  
Antithesis: It Starts With One  
  
Draco Malfoy was thinking about Harry Potter.  
  
It was not as activity he regularly indulged in, terrified as he was that a wisp of emotion would flicker behind his usually apathic face and he would be discovered. He may have been a good actor, but he was also cautious in nature and did not think it wise to tempt fate in such a manner. Yet there, late at night in his thinking place; a small third-floor chamber featuring a window seat of grand proportions, his mind was released of it's normally strict reign and allowed to wander. Unfortunately, he thought with a sardonic grin, his imagination preferred to tread the same old pathways in such a way that he could almost see the footsteps that lead through the complex maze of his mind toward the carefully sorted and stored images of his arch nemesis.  
  
The boy he thought of was beautiful; small for his age with untamable raven hair, full, expressive lips and captivating viridian eyes framed in heavy, dark lashes. Green eyes, like the emerald in his father's signet ring, or a lush carpet of grass on a warm summer's day, or the highlights reflected off a vast expanse of ocean...  
  
Draco snorted in self-contempt. This little infatuation of his had him in way over his head, the surface long lost from view.  
  
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Harry Potter, snug in his bed across Hogwarts castle, was thinking about Quidditch.  
  
Only fifteen hours and twenty-three minutes until the big Gryffindor/Slytherin match. He hadn't been this nervous since his first game five years before. This game was different, though. This game had a lot riding on it, more so then the usual Quidditch and House cups. Morale among the student body had been lower than the dungeons since last year's Triwizard Tournament disaster and Cedric Diggory's untimely death. Harry felt that it was the least he could do to improve the Gryffindor mood by playing and awesome game in memory of Cedric. He blatantly ignored the nagging voice in his head that said it was only his way of selfishly ridding himself of the guilt he carried like a wooden cross on his shoulders. He had yet to cry, yet to mourn his lost friend.   
  
He sighed in frustration and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, which felt gritty with weariness. 1:38 in the morning and he was still wide-awake. With another long sigh he shifted and rolled over, punching his pillow a couple of times to fluff it before settling back down. Tired of counting imaginary sheep, he resorted to running through his multiplication tables in the hopes of boring himself into unconsciousness. It was around five times twelve that he drifted into sleep, fourteen hours and forty-nine minutes until he faced off against his greatly disliked rival.  
  
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At the same moment, now far below Harry snuggled in his bed in the bowels in the castle, Draco Malfoy finally slept and his dreams did not involve Quidditch.  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: I have plans for this to become a series, but in order for that too happen I need at least 3 reveiws from you good people. Show me your interest and I'll show you the goods. 


	2. We've Loved Some Pretty, Pretty Ones

*****Notes for the rest of the story******  
*Denotes thought*  
//denotes the beginning or end of a dream sequence\\  
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//The whole world consisted of him; his touch, his taste, the way his hair fell into his eyes... and Draco found himself lost with nothing left for him to do but try to breathe. Even that most primal of instinct was forgotten in the rush of heady pleasure the boy's hands on him brought. Kisses were passionate and unrestrained, a fire hidden within him being stoked to incredible heat. Jade green met with his own silver eyes for a long second until he bent his head back and let his mind slip away, just content to live for that sweet moment. A second later a strong fist connected with his face.   
  
He fell back to a cold stone floor, hand at his aching jaw, blood from a split lip between his fingers. He looked up into the white-hot anger of his father's grey eyes, and gasped in shock and pain as a foot met his stomach violently. Sprawled on his belly across the floor, he tried to sit up when a hand grabbed the back of his neck, hauling his head back painfully before smashing his forehead into the unyielding granite stones beneath him. He was too far-gone to even cry out in pain when the hand came again and wrenched his battered body onto it's back. Briefly, his eyes met with the ruby read beady orbs of the dark lord before the hands were on him again, in a rough mockery of love; he realized he was still naked and the figure above him smirked as he began to scream. He screamed until the walls broke and crumbled to the ground, he screamed until the floor beneath him cracked and split itself into a vast chasm, screamed until the man above him stopped his violating movements, screamed until he felt the blood pool in his raw throat.//  
  
When Draco Malfoy awoke he was still screaming, and it was several minutes before he calmed enough to stop, valiantly fighting back the hot rush of tears to his eyes *Malfoy's don't cry.* He curled himself into a little ball, trying to hide from the darkness pressing him down like his dreamed attackers and fought to control himself. Around the dorm, all the other Slytherins slept peacefully, thanks to the silencing charm Draco had perfected after years of nightly casting. This was not his first vividly horrific nightmare, and would likely not be his last. *The mind is often the most dangerous of enemies.*  
  
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Breakfast was business as usual for the Boy Who Lived. He listened with growing amusement as the redheaded boy next to him animatedly retold his anecdote for the whole table. Harry laughed although having heard that particular story several times before, it had never failed to bring a smile to his face. Indeed, the adventures of young Ronald Weasley and his siblings were favorites among the Gryffindors. The amount of trouble those seven got up too... Boggled his mind it did. *Truly. I don't know how he survived this long with his sort of luck...*   
  
"So Harry, want to tell us what took you so bloody long in the shower this morning?" Ron's face suddenly loomed over Harry's cheese and bacon omelet, leering at him suggestively. The whole table held it's breath right down to the brand-new first years, waiting to see if he could respond without causing himself undue embarrassment, a pastime in which Ron took great pleasure in. Harry, for his part, did a great job; his eyes not leaving Ron's once, his accompanying shrug was completely nonchalant and his face maintained it's totally straight expression right to the end before he cracked up.   
  
"You know me Ron, I just have to keep my hands busy."  
  
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The Gryffindor's hearty laughter reached straight to the other end of the dining hall, and to Draco Malfoy's sleepy ears; his face drawn and pale with memories, dreading the inevitable face-off against his rival on the Quidditch pitch in less than ten hours. 


	3. I Tried So Hard

*****Notes for the rest of the story******  
*Denotes thought*  
//denotes the beginning or end of a dream sequence\\  
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The sun shone merrily down onto the witches and wizards gathering below. Although there was a slight wind chill, the whole school was slowly assembling for what was sure to be the greatest Quidditch match since EVER, never mind the fact that they had said the same thing about the last Gryffindor-Slytherin match. Or the one before that... or the one before that... The intense rivalry between the houses had yet, after countless years, to grow old. High in the stands, fanning themselves idly with their unfinished homework sheets, Ron and Hermione waited patiently for the arrival of the two teams and the beginning of the match with unsuppressed excitement.  
  
"How long do you think it'll take Harry to catch the snitch this time?" Ron had no doubt in his best friend's ability to bring home a Gryffindor victory, as he had yet to fail the team, save for his unfortunate run-in with the Dementors. Extenuating circumstances aside, his skills as Seeker were indisputably better than Malfoy's.  
  
"I dunno Ron, maybe an hour?" Ron shrugged in response before his eyes lit up with glee as the two teams, dressed in brand new Quidditch robes, (thanks to copious fundraising efforts by all the houses) broomsticks in hands and for the most part, smiles on all the faces. The only exceptions were Harry, who had a look of deep concentration on his features known affectionately as his game face and Draco, who had yet to grace Hogwarts with a true smile. However he did sport the accustomed Malfoy Smirk (tm). Cheers rang from all corners of the pitch as the onlookers rooted for the Gryffindors, and simultaneously booed the Slytherins. No one questioned the derogatory practice, over the years it had grown almost ritual to the students and they would have it no other way.   
  
One by one the players took to the air and began to make a few lazy warm-up circles, the beaters making a few practice swings while they were at it. Harry and Malfoy were had added a few dips and twists to their warm-up routine, as much for the crowd below as for their own benefit. They snuck glances across the open air between them regularly, sizing each other up and issuing silent challenges with their solid gazes. This was their rivalry at its peak. The natural competitiveness of the game lent well to their usual animosity; Quidditch was just one more chance to show the other up. Harry most definitely had the upper hand, as he always had since that first match four years ago, but Draco was not one to be easily overcome. He would fight to the last, even in a losing battle. Such was the mark of a Malfoy. "We're always stubborn and tenacious, it's bred into us boy, right into our very bones. It's a Malfoy trait, and you'd do best to remember that." Draco recalled those to be his father's exact words on the subject, and he'd done right to not question the statement.  
  
Abruptly the warm-up ended, and them teams assembled in the middle of the pitch. One whistle later they were in play, all energy and grace as they fell naturally into their positions. Slytherin was really on top of their game today, scoring twice almost immediately after starting. Draco ignored the boos and angry shouts of the devout Gryffindors fans below, and instead focused on shooting Potter a nasty grin, which Harry didn't see, his eyes to busy looking for a telltale flash of gold. Draco was almost glad at this, he hated the nasty façade he was forced to maintain. Tradition, fate, and his own weakness and fear would not allow him to slip. Not yet, but he was so very close... Shrugging the discomfiting thought off, he set his mind back on the game.  
  
It was not even a minute later when he next deigned to look at Potter. His turned his head slightly, tipping it at a better angle for viewing as dark hair shifted and rose so an emerald gaze met marble. Draco's breath froze in his chest at the intensity of the other seeker's regard before the contact was broken as the green eyes widened marginally and focused on something just beyond Draco's head. The Slytherin boy blinked and Harry was in motion, all grace and speed as he rushed by, robes brushing the pair were so close. Draco jerked the handle of his new racing broom and followed, almost neck in neck for the prize; hovering golden and ethereal before them. Almost synchronized, they moved, arms reaching for it, eyes set on it, so close, so close...  
  
But it was Harry who reached it first, victory and defeat in one smooth motion of his hand, the winged thing beating against his closed fist in an attempt for freedom. The stands exploding into cheers while the players near smothered the winning seeker as the teams landed. Ron and Hermione were among the masses surrounding the boy wonder of Gryffindor, Draco noted as his own team silently made their way to the showers, none of them calm enough to even attempt conversation with him. He didn't press them matter; he know he had failed his team again, like he always had. The crowd before him suddenly parted for a second and Potter, his tousled black hair in his eyes, made his way toward Draco. They stood face to face not two paces from each other, the whole school waiting on the first move, which was Harry's. Draco took the extended hand in his own; one firm shake and a "good game Malfoy" was his only consolation that day, and from his worst rival no doubt. He could almost taste the irony bitter like cheap wine on his tongue and as he watched Harry walk, Draco wasn't sure if he should be laughing or crying.   
  
He chose stoicism instead, tears and giggles were not precious treats a Malfoy indulged in.   
  
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Gryffindor tower rang with celebrations that night. True, the victory had been less than spectacular, but it had been so long since many of them had found reason to rejoice that no one questioned motives, not even the professors. Usually a commotion of such magnitude would have drawn the headmaster but tonight, they reveled in unrestrained fashion. Harry felt like he'd been sucked into a vortex of energy and left sprawled in a heap in his favorite chair. People walked by on congratulated him every few minutes, but he had only half and ear for the praise. His victory had come with a defeat of his own, no less bitter than the one Malfoy had felt, if the look in his eyes was any judge. Harry closed his own eyes, suddenly gritty from unshed tears and exhaustion. He made his way slowly to the fifth year dorms; sleep the only objective thought in his mind. At the foot of the stairs he paused and turned to cast one look back at the party behind him with a solemn expression much unfit for the atmosphere of the common room. He raised the almost forgotten punch glass in his hand in a silent salute. *For you Cedric, for you.*  
  
  
  
  
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Sorry this installment took so long, finals were hell. For those that are wondering, however few there may be, this is chapter three of a proposed eight chapters. The next one is title "I Only Speak the Truth," and will most likely be longer than this one is. I have no idea when it will be out, but if it's more than a week feel free to flame me, it could get me off my ass and writing. 


	4. I Only Speak the Truth

*****Notes for the rest of the story******  
*Denotes thought*  
//denotes the beginning or end of a dream sequence\\  
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Breakfast the morning after presented a scene quite common to the wizarding school... although, it begs to be said that the muted hum of voices from the Gryffindor table held a happier tone than it had the past few months. It made Malfoy want to scream. He scowled viciously, ignoring the disappointed looks from the other Slytherins as he stabbed violently at his uneaten food. Some days he positively HATED Potter!!! *No you don't, it's not like that at all...* with a metal slap he silenced the nagging voice in his head. It was an almost welcome distraction when the mail arrived, the flurry of owls obscuring the enchanted ceiling almost totally with their outspread wings. Draco quickly recognized his father's owl was it made its graceful swoop down to the table, the small package landing neatly in Draco's lap. He wasted no time in removing the letter tied to the outside, eyes devouring the words, expression tightening at the negativity of his fathers message until...   
Draco's stomach flipped. He read the last paragraph again, pausing to glare at the package in his lap. The letter again. The package. The letter. The package. Rising abruptly from his seat he swept out of the great hall to sulk further before class. He was almost positive he heard Weasley cheer at his back in the moment before the large doors swung closed behind him. The moment the heavy wood doors settled closed behind him he bolted, running like mad for his private room. He needed time to think.  
  
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Draco,  
  
It has been brought to my attention that you have failed us yet again. It was a simple enough task to complete, and yet Harry Potter walked off the Quidditch pitch in one piece, and with a Gryffindor victory I might add. We were counting on you to knock him off his broom as you know, and I have to admit your obvious disdain for your missions is beginning to reflect badly on the Malfoy name. The Dark Lord is not pleased boy, and neither am I.   
  
This is your very last chance to do things right for once. Enclosed is a vial of deadly digitalis, extracted from the foxglove plants your mother is so very fond of. It is your job to ensure the entire vial winds up in Potter's mouth by stealth or by force if necessary. Sneak it into his food, corner him in a hallway, whatever it takes. The potency will ensure that he will be dead long before he can talk about any violent encounters. If you are caught you will reveal nothing of your involvement with the Dark Lord. We suggest you swallow your tongue to kill yourself and avoid any interrogation. Remember your Malfoy honour boy.  
  
Lucius  
  
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Draco sat on the window seat, twisting the letter in angry hands, yet not tearing it. He may yet need it if his plan was going to work. The thought did little to ease his rage however. In the two days since he had received the package, he had spent increasing amounts of time in his small haven deep in thought, carefully weighing the pros and cons of his actions. He had caved in this morning however, and sent Dumbledore an owl with directions to his room, telling himself it was done all for his own benefit. *And Harry's benefit never once factored into your decision?"* The vial sat next to him, it's deadly prize masked by the rainbow reflections of sunlight it scattered. Draco wanted to throw it against the wall. Or maybe, open it and swallow the contents himself. Heaven knows it would make his choice a whole lot easier. The opening of the room's single door startled him back to reality. The aged figure of Hogwarts' headmaster appeared in the doorway, concern for the student evident in his wrinkled face. Draco had to force down a nasty dismissal, his contempt for the man before him ignored in favor of the help he desperately needed.   
  
"You wished to see me Draco?" The older wizard made no reference to the fact that classes had begun a half-hour ago. For that, Draco was oddly thankful.   
  
"Yes, is here okay?" Draco had been careful to detail the secretive nature of his confession in his hurried letter to the headmaster. Dumbledore nodded and took his seat on the other end of the ledge from the teenage boy, as if knowing his presence created a nervous feeling in the latter. For his part Draco was good about hiding it; he didn't trust his voice though, so he instead thrust the worn letter into the older mans' hands and sat back, staring desperately around the room for a possible escape. Dumbledore took his time in reading and rereading the letter, frowning slightly as he did. He at last refolded the letter, settling back against the wall, looking at Draco over his half-moon glasses. Draco realized he was waiting for him to speak. He took a deep breath.  
  
"I can't do it." Draco did not feel the need to specify why exactly. Dumbledore nodded slowly.  
  
"What can you do mister Malfoy?" Draco almost winced at the use of his last name, but he held steady, maintaining eye contact.   
  
"Spy, fight, kill death eaters, whatever you bloody want." Even in his desperation, Draco did not miss the slight amusement Dumbledore had at his outburst. Draco frowned before continuing. "Even if you don't believe me it's true. You can test me under veritaserum." Dumbledore smiled and stood.  
  
"Well then young man, I would go on to you next class. I will speak to professor Snape about your absence, and see if he won't brew some truth potion for us then. You understand of course, that it is merely a precautionary measure." Draco nodded his head once in understanding. Without any more words Dumbledore left. Draco soon did too, off to his transfiguration class, deadly poison in his pocket, next to his wand.  
  
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They met again the next night, just after supper. Dumbledore ushered Draco past the gargoyle and into his office. Snape was already waiting for them, flask of veritaserum in hand and regular scowl on his face. The professor wasn't the only person present however, and certainly not the one that caught Draco's eye and made him freeze in his place. Seated at the large desk was Potter. With an unidentifiable sound that may have been mistaken for anguish, Malfoy turned on his heel and headed back the way he'd come. It was only the timely intervention of Snape in the form of a hand on his shoulder that stopped his further progression.   
  
"I trust your not going to back out on us now are you, mister Malfoy?" Draco swallowed hard, grimaced and turned around sharply, gathering the remaining bits of his pride around him like a shield. Wordlessly he plunked himself down in the seat farthest from Harry and tried desperately to avoid his eyes without seeming blatantly obvious about it. For his part Harry seemed to do the same thing for him, which suited Draco just fine. *At least Granger and Weasley aren't here to make this any worse.*   
  
"Do to the nature of the situation, I felt it best that Harry was present to hear this." Dumbledore presented that last statement, flawed logic and all while he took his seat behind the desk and motioned for Snape to be seated too. The dark-haired man stalwartly refused, instead standing behind Draco and slightly to the right. Draco was glad for his presence; his housemaster had always been one of the few people on the planet he was comfortable around. Snape leaned forward and handing him the flask filled with a substance the strongly resembled water in all manners. Draco took it in a hand that was, and he was proud to admit, not shaking.  
  
"Just one sip will be enough, unless you wish to be very... forthcoming with your teachers come tomorrow." Figuring it was as close to a good luck Malfoy as he was going to get, Draco closed his eyes and sipped.  
  
Nothing happened immediately, he was only aware of the liquids icy-cold path to his stomach. He folded his hands and waited, feeling intensely small under the scrutiny of the three other individuals in the room. After almost ten minutes of tense silence, the Headmaster looked up from the report he had been writing and smiled warmly, although it did little to calm Draco's sudden case of nerves.   
  
"Well then mister Malfoy, shall we continue?" Draco opened his mouth to reply yes.  
  
"About time, I've tired of sitting here like an idiot with you three breathing down my neck." His eyes widened and a hand flew to his mouth to stop the flow of words. Apparently, veritaserum has amazing results. Snape and Dumbledore had barely batted an eye, obviously expecting an outburst like that. Harry on the other hand looked quite surprised. Dumbledore wasted no time in beginning his questioning.  
  
"Draco, are you acting under any orders from Voldemort, your father, or any other death eaters?" Draco snorted in contempt.  
  
"No, I can hardly stand the spineless, gutless and brainless gits the Dark Lord calls his followers. He's a raving lunatic who'd do better to off himself and save us all a whole lot of trouble." Draco smirked, happy to see Potter quite shocked at his response, and mentally congratulated himself.   
  
"Well then, are you currently under the imperious curse?  
  
"Not since this summer I haven't been." Draco bit his lip, he hadn't wanted to exactly share that little incident, and the memories were bad enough... Thankfully Dumbledore did not see it fit for him to elaborate and moved on.  
  
"One last question then, mister Malfoy, before we let you go for tonight. Can you tell us what your motivation was for your decision?"   
  
There it was, the one question Draco had been loathing the whole time, the one he really didn't want to answer. It might mean baring all, and that was not an option. He took several deep breaths to clear his head before answering.  
  
"There was no other satisfactory alternative. It was his life or mine, and although our... history may say otherwise, I... I don't hate him at all, definitely not enough to kill him. I couldn't do it Harry." Draco paused to make eye contact with the other teenage boy. "I'm no killer, I'm no death eater, I never wanted to be, and I had no way to get myself out of this on my own... I needed help." He looked down after his concession, actually pleased with the answer, although embarrassed at the same time. Snape stepped forward and placed a hand on his shoulder, and motioned for him to leave.   
  
"Do go to bed and get some rest boys, I'm afraid it's later then I had planned." Dumbledore said in gentle dismissal. Harry smiled and bid him goodnight before he followed Draco avoiding eye contact as Snape let them out of the office. The moment they had rounded the corner on the way to the dorms however, Harry's whole demeanor changed and he moved in front of Draco, placing his hands on Draco's forearms to halt his progress and hold his under his green-eyed gaze. Draco decided this was a decidedly uncomfortable situation, but not being one to run when challenged, he instead attempted to stare Harry down. His deep concentration was broken however, when Harry opened his mouth to speak.   
  
"Alright Draco, out with it. If you don't hate me, why the whole I'm-a-rich-little-bastard-and-I'm-better-than-you-are act all these years, hmm?" Draco suddenly felt somewhat faint, and he wasn't sure if it was the sudden fear at his inevitable answer or the close proximity of Harry to him. Try as he might though, the veritaserum would not be denied a chance to make his life hell.   
  
"Everything I've done since that first day has been for you." Harry snorted in disbelief, forcing Draco to continue. "Really! Well, at the beginning of first year maybe not, I was a spoiled little rich kid who hadn't got his way, but I honestly wanted to change that by the time Christmas had come. I was even ready to give Ron and Hermione a chance, I mean, they couldn't be that bad if they hung around you could they? The whole school worshipped the ground you walked on and I... I wanted to be part of that. I wanted to be MORE than that! I wanted to be your friend..."   
  
Draco had to stop for a moment to fight with his composure before continuing. "I wrote you a letter. It took me all night Harry, it told you everything I'm telling you now. I planned to give it to you after breakfast, in person, but... I got an owl, from my father. He'd just heard the news; the great Harry Potter was in his son's year at Hogwarts. I became a means to an end Harry. He wanted me to hurt you, like he does now. He could have used me, under imperious... I couldn't let that happen. The more you hated me, the safer you were. If we weren't close it just made it that must harder for my father to use me to reach you." Draco stared hard at his shoes, exhausted with his confession, but not quite finished. "I'm so sorry. You have no idea how sorry..." Not even with every once of his strength and pride could Draco raise his face and meet Harry's eyes.   
  
"Draco..." Harry started, but he never finished, just sighed and turned away, walking quickly back to the Gryffindor dorms, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts and nightmares once more.  
  
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Hey there faithful readers, so sorry for the long wait. I had the most difficult time trying to figure out how to write out Draco's confession, I swear I must have typed it ten times over before I hit upon this one, which I think is good enough. I'm not so sure on the spelling of veritaserum though, so if I've spelled it wrong could someone please review and tell me? Thank you very much for those that have reviewed already. The next chapter is yet untitled, and indeed the exact plot is rather murky so it could be another couple of weeks before I can get it to work for me. Happy reading until then. 


	5. You're Unbelievable

*****Notes for the rest of the story******  
*Denotes thought*  
//denotes the beginning or end of a dream sequence\\  
  
THIS CHAPTER DEDICATED TO ALL YOUR WONDERFUL REVIEWERS!!! THANKS TO YOU MY STORY IS MY FIRST WORK EVER TO HIT IN THE DOUBLE-DIGITS! Now that I have that out of my system, on with chapter five:  
  
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"You have no idea how sorry..."  
  
No. Harry didn't have any idea. He didn't particularly care to get one, either. Veritaserum. Malfoy could tell no lies. His obvious shame and embarrassment proved that. Harry sighed, releasing Malfoy and walking away slowly. It wasn't the right thing to do, but Harry didn't care. Honestly, he couldn't have cared less if Voldemort had appeared in a pink bunny costume and danced the Macarena for him. It was just too much to deal with really. The guilt over Cedric, playing the third wheel to Ron and Hermione's perfect couple, the latest threat on his life from his greatest rival and now... his rival's stunning confession. It all felt like one of Aunt Petunia's bad soap opera's. All the tears and plot twists and ulterior motives. It made Harry want to scream. *Tomorrow, I'll talk to him tomorrow.* After Dumbledore had, of course. Malfoy would be promptly pumped for all the information he knew. It would probably result in Lucius Malfoy's arrest and incarceration at Azkaban. Harry wondered how that would affect Malfoy. He had just revealed an obvious distaste for the man, but family was still family... Having reached his dorm, Harry quickly undressing and climbed into bed. *Tomorrow... I'll think about it tomorrow.* Thus was the boy who lived rapidly lost to sleep. If only the other young seeker was as lucky...  
  
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// "YOU LITTLE BASTARD!"  
  
Draco couldn't breathe. He could never breathe when Lucius was angry. He didn't want to, being too terrified of invoking greater wrath.   
  
"TRAITOR!"  
  
Lucius was murderous when he got worked up, and most of that rage was reflected on Draco's hide. Provided he was at home, of course. School was his only haven...  
  
"CRUCIATUS!"  
  
Now Draco couldn't think, either. \\  
  
Deep in the Slytherin dungeons, Draco awoke screaming.  
  
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Potions was utterly, loathsomely boring. If it had been an elective, Harry would have ditched it faster then an angry bludger. He sighed, tuning Snape out for the fifth time that class. Who really cared about the uses of Dragonweed [1], anyway? Harry instead decided to sneak a glace, past Hermione to where Malfoy was sitting alone. Crabbe and Goyle had not returned to Hogwarts that year. No explanation given, although the rumour mill provided everything from transferal to another school right down to dropping out and joining the Dark Lord. Malfoy looked tired, worn, like an old robe in need of repair. Heavy dark circles like smudges of soot hung under his eyes. His hair had not been brushed or carefully done as per usual that morning. He looked like hell, and Harry couldn't help but feel guilty for it. *You left him...*   
  
"It's nice to see you're so confident in your abilities that you don't feel the need to pay attention, mister Potter. However considering you're little fiasco last class with the shrinking potion, I do believe your confidence in sadly misplaced." Snape's comment shook Harry from deep in his thoughts and carried him back to the classroom. He blushed red under the scrutiny of all his peers before bowing his head and continuing to take notes. It didn't take long for his mind to wander however, but before it got very far he was called back to reality by another too-familiar voice.  
  
"Professor Snape, I feel ill. May I go to see Madame Pomfrey?" Malfoy's voice shook slightly, and with his slightly green pallor, he could've easily won over McGonagall. It was hard to tell, but Snape's face softened imperceptibly toward his favorite student before replying.  
  
"Of course Mister Malfoy." Malfoy began to pack his bag, as Snape gazed clinically around the room before his sight settled once again on Harry. "Mister Potter, seeing how your obvious distaste for my class, perhaps you would be kind enough to escort mister Malfoy to the hospital wing?" Harry nodded, snatching at the chance to talk to Malfoy, and inwardly cringing at the implications of that last thought. Gathering his stuff, he mumbled a quick goodbye to Ron and Hermione before following Malfoy out of the class.   
  
"Mister Potter, with half the class left I don't think you'll be needing all your books for a simple walk to the infirmary." Harry paused in the door and turned to give one last parting shot at his teacher.   
  
"I do, because I WON'T be coming back." Harry took great delight in closing the door on Snape's priceless expression.  
  
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"You shouldn't have pissed Snape off like that. He'll just take it out on the rest of the Gryffindors." They walked side by side down the hallway, shoulder's bumping every few minutes. Harry frowned softly before speaking.  
  
"I know, I'm just so sick of his self-righteous bullshit." If Malfoy was shocked at his outburst, he didn't show any outward signs.   
  
"He's nice enough." Draco said lightly. Harry snorted.  
  
"Not to me it isn't." If it hadn't been for the events of the night before, Harry would have been somewhat horrified at the prospect of an intelligent conversation with Malfoy. As is, he just felt somewhat at odds with himself. Ron would never forgive him... But he hadn't heard what Harry had last night. *No better time than the present...*  
  
"So Malfoy, about last night..."  
  
"I don't want to talk about it." Tight-lipped and looking less green then before, Malfoy made a sudden turn down a smaller hallway, quickening his pace and forcing Harry into a half-hog to keep up.  
  
"The infirmary is that way." Harry gestured with a hand. Malfoy smirked, looking more like his old self.  
  
"I know, that was just a ruse so I could speak to Dumbledore." Harry blinked.  
  
"Um, well, it's just... You looked positively green back there, I mean, you really had me thinking you were sick, you know?" Harry almost winced at the naivety in his voice. Draco just laughed softly, a true laugh, very foreign to Harry's ears. He could swear too, that there was a very Dumbledore-like twinkle in Malfoy's eyes as he responded, although he didn't crack a smile.  
  
"I just thought about Snape in a thong for a few minutes. Does the trick usually, even works on Professor Binns." Harry didn't know if he was serious or not, so he chose to let that comment slide. He took a long, deep breath before he broke the sudden silence.  
  
"I'm sorry." Draco stopped walking, prompting Harry to continue. "I shouldn't have left, I was just so... overwhelmed with everything; it was just one more thing that I didn't want to think about." Draco looked mad again, grey eyes flashing as he turned to confront Harry.  
  
"Shocked that I have a soul then, are you Potter?" Harry shrugged, hoping to diffuse the situation.  
  
"No, just shocked that you would do something like that... I mean, it was a bit of a shock yes, to see you so, well, so un-Draco." He lowered his head, finding his feet suddenly interesting. "I didn't know you thought I was worth it."  
  
Draco exhaled suddenly, not even realizing that he was holding his breath. *He didn't really believe that I... well, I never gave him a reason too but, I never thought...* "O Harry, you have no idea..." The words were barely more than a breath from his lips, like the gentle caress of a feather on ones skin. It made Harry shiver slightly, raising his eyes to meet stormy grey ones, the question in the emerald orbs unmistakable.  
  
"What do you mean Draco?" *It is the first time,* Harry thought, *that I have ever used his real name.* The boy in question, ran his hands down his robes, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles in nervousness.  
  
"I... Oh, sod." Then, in one fluid, unanticipated motion, Draco had tangled his fingers in the hair at the nape of Harry's neck and drawn their lips together for a chaste, closed-mouth kiss. Harry tensed in shock, not quite willing to shove Draco off. He didn't really get a chance to make a decision, however before Draco released him and shot off down the hallway like he was being chased by Fluffy himself. Watching his retreating form, a rumpled Harry put his fingers to his lips... and smiled.  
  
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Well, here it is. Sooner than promised, yea for me. The next chapter will be out soon, can't give an exact date though. The [1] is a reference to Penguin's awesome story Dragonweed, read it for a few more details on the plant AND more wonderful Harry/Draco slash. 


	6. The Only One Who Really Knew Me At All

*****Notes for the rest of the story******  
*Denotes thought*  
//denotes the beginning or end of a dream sequence\\  
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Harry and Draco had exactly two weeks to muse over their last encounter before the came face to face again. Well actually, before they were alone enough to even consider discussing their kiss. Their many meeting with Dumbledore had been necessary to properly digest and employ the new information Draco had brought into the fold. However, they left the boys little time to themselves, especially in the height of the Quidditch season. Their eventual meeting did come, and now here they sat, side by side in an abandoned classroom somewhere in the musty dungeons, totally at loss for words. The silence permeated both teenagers until Draco took it upon himself to finish what he'd started.   
  
"I'm sorry." Harry blinked in mild surprise, although it is uncertain whether he was surprised at Draco's voice or the words themselves. There was a moment's pause and then he replied.   
  
"You've been apologizing a lot lately, haven't you?" As soon as he said it, Harry kicked himself mentally for sounding to aloof, although Draco didn't seem to notice.   
  
"I have a lot to apologize for." He mumbled, eyes downcast. Harry reached over the tipped Draco's chin up with two gentle fingers so they were eye to eye.   
  
"Maybe you do, and I have to admit I like the new Draco." Harry spoke in even, level tones, his voice just above a whisper, and when the talking was don he got about to the real business; kissing Draco. With a soft exhalation of surrender, Draco allowed himself to be kissed, tentatively sliding his arms around Harry's neck. Harry could have sworn there was magic crackling in the air and in his lips for Draco's touch.  
  
Even when the kiss broke a few seconds later, no words were spoken for the rest of the night. None were needed.  
  
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Alas, time passes rapidly in the years of youth, as our boys soon found. Autumn leaves quickly gave way to winter's chill and Christmas spirits, which themselves eventually gave way to spring warmth. All the while the boys were together at every spare moment, often seeking each other out in the dark of the night for a few minutes of talk and maybe a kiss. There newfound compassion was kept a well-guarded secret from all, mostly for Draco's safety. Slytherins do not take kindly to change of that sort, and that wasn't taking Draco's father and his... affiliations into consideration. It was noted by all, even the occasional reporter Hogwarts entertained, that Draco and Harry's previous animosity have all but disappeared. In the publics eye they were no longer enemies, if not anything more than casual acquaintances, perhaps worth a nod or quiet "hello" when passing each other in the halls. If only you were to witness them in private though...   
  
The boys had moved slowly, held back by their own fears, doubts and insecurities. Neither sure of what the future would hold for them, the inexperienced youth fumbled their way through their mutual attraction blindfolded. They were pleasantly surprised to discover a great number of similarities between them, as well as many complementary differences. While Harry was somewhat known for his quick comebacks, Draco's humor was far more morbid and strange. They often had each other in fits of laughing, only to be suddenly sobered back to reality. Most often, their conversations were about the future and the threat of Voldemort. They also spoke of the past, of what had been, or what could have. They analyzed and dissected each other before reassembling again, discovering new facets and angles to their own personalities. They found each other, in the truest sense of the word, and although their physical explorations had been confined to a few shy, sweet kisses every now and then, they had a bond almost to a molecular level. Draco for one was sure that he could hear Harry's heartbeat from across the castle. No matter where they went, their was magic.  
  
Harry was truly a wizard of great strength, and with Draco by his side to channel; they could've moved mountains. Indeed, the air fairly sparked with it when they touched, and the pair could always feel a low, steady hum of power between them, no matter how great the distance. It was almost like one person in two bodies, completed now more than at any point in their lives before. Harry had even begun to think about it like that, dividing his life into two neat sections; before Draco, and after Draco. With the pale young man's help, Harry was fighting his own inner demons, especially his guilt over Cedric's and his parent's deaths. The boys were unstoppable, until it all came to a crashing halt.  
  
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"We need to talk."   
  
Those words alone should have been warning enough for Harry; something big was coming. Talking was not a new activity for him and Draco, but the latter had never began a conversation so bluntly before. Harry just shrugged casually, seating himself on the floor alongside his... *boyfriend?* before responding.  
  
"What's eating you?" Harry's eyebrows drew together in a frown when Draco's fidgeted, eyes set on the floor.  
  
"How do you feel about me?" Harry took a long, deep breath. He'd just been hit out of left field, and was now trying to catch the fumble.  
  
"How am I supposed to feel?" *Real smooth there, genius.* Draco was frowning too now.  
  
"I don't know, I just thought if I did, maybe you did too." Harry blinked.  
  
"How do you feel?" A long silence stretched between the two as Draco chewed nervously at his lip. When the response finally came, it was so soft that Harry barely heard it.  
  
"I think I love you." That was the moment the shit hit the fan.  
  
"What you do mean, you think? How can you just think, don't you know?" Harry hadn't meant to sound like such a prat, honestly, but he'd been blindsided by a sudden wave of discomfort, and with it was anger. Anger at Draco for saying that, for putting Harry in this position, for making him FEEL...  
  
"I mean you've always been this great fucking hero, this golden boy everyone loved and admired and all I saw the whole time was you, YOU! Small for your age, skinny, with tape on your glasses and hair that gladly defies gravity." Draco paused for a breath before continuing with somewhat less force. "I felt it the moment you walking into the robe shop when we were eleven, Harry, and I've been feeling it since. I've only just put a name to it." His voice had a diamond hard edge to it now. "If that is a PROBLEM, well then you can go. to. Hell." Robes swirling around him angrily, Draco swept out of the room, leaving Harry behind for the first time in six months. Shell-shocked and dazed, Harry made his way back to his dorm, falling immediately to sleep and into a dream where Voldemort appeared and killed Draco. Once. Twice. Again and again and again... Harry awoke the next morning with a scar that ached only slightly less than his soul.  
  
Draco never showed up for breakfast, or potions class afterwards, or lunch, or care of magical creatures, or Quidditch practice, or dinner, or curfew. He didn't show up the next day either, nor the day after that. Actually, it would be another two years before Draco showed up again.  
  
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Yay, another chapter finished. Joyful, joyful. This one was hard and took forever because I wasn't sure where I wanted to go with it. In the end I just wrote and look where it took me... sorry about the cliffhanger, and the lack of sex for those who were waiting for it, I already told you I don't do NC-17. I don't know when the next chapter will be out, but guaranteed it will be action. Only two more chapters until the end folks. Once again, reviews are more than welcome, and thanks to those who have. Until we meet again.... 


	7. The Day The Whole World Went Away

How many people would picture the showdown between the world's teenage wizard savior and the greatest dark lord ever taking place in a graveyard, at midnight during the worst storm of the year?   
  
I thought so.   
  
Apparently, Harry Potter did too. So naturally, a vast field of swiftly-trampled, multi-coloured wildflowers at high noon on a gorgeous summer day threw him. Which could be why he felt trance-like and tranquil while hexing death-eaters left and right? A confundus here, an incendio there, he moved with a fluid, dreamlike grace, robes swaying, his lips barely moving with his murmured spells. It felt like a perfect dance, his wand his passionate partner, tangoing his way past deaths' grinning skeleton reaper to the final prize.  
  
Lord Voldemort.  
  
The man once known as Riddle was dancing too, his moves the opposite of our jaded hero's, as mesmerizing in his death-dealing as a dancer in full pirouette. When he and Harry finally engaged each other, face to snake-face the wind itself stilled in awe. Time hung suspended in the air like the killing intent hung between them, a green flash murder only a whisper away. Death was not the purpose though, at this moment. Death was only the punishment for the first who faltered from this waltz, this slow crescendo of wills, of primal instinct to better, to survive.   
  
Harry was in full-focus of the creature before him, serpent-like and red-eyed and foul, glaring into him like the emptiness of Nietzsche's vast abyss. He could tell it was close now, only a moment away. Only one spell would fly true. Only one would succeed. And for the love of all that lived, Harry hoped it was him.   
  
It's strange then, to think that at such a crucial moment Harry could have been distracted by a sudden vision of white-blonde hair cursing down a random masked minion, but he was. The spells were cast and Harry was off just a quarter beat, and a hairsbreadth to the left perhaps. Harry Potter had faltered.  
  
Avada Kedavra  
  
End game.


	8. We Haven't Seen the Sun For Weeks

It was nearly a year after the battle that the formal memorial ceremony was held for the dead. Indeed, the fallout from that summer struggle was massive. Muggles were exposed to magic in a large and egregious way. Some dealt. Others dealt retribution against the "abominations to God/nature/decency." It left a bitter taste in many wizarding mouths to realize that, when concerning the nature of muggles, in some ways Riddle had been right after all. So when Albus Dumbledore asked for the names of all the deceased death eaters to be included on the engraving of the memorial tablet to be placed at the site of the last battle, there were few serious objections.   
  
Wizards of all stature stood now in the field as new Minister of Magic Arthur Weasely read a short eulogy for those departs from this world. Many were crying. Some had gathered bouquets of the freshly regrown wildflowers to lie at the foot of the massive stone. Those who had survived the battle could hardly recognize where they stood.  
  
When Draco Malfoy had thrown himself in from of the killing curse meant for Harry Potter, he'd unwittingly become a channel, a live wire for the curse and his own power directly into his estranged love. Like Lily's sacrifice before, the results were devastating. The sheer force of power, amplified by Harry's own rage and grief killed all three instantly and leveled most of the field. Many enemies died alongside allies in the vicious, untamed blast. Only wizards and witches on the outskirts were spared, despite being painfully relocated several dozen feet away.  
  
The field had grown back though, over ground scorched clean of all traces of battle from bodies to broken wands. The fallout was almost nuclear in its immensity, so much panic, confusion, so many injuries. Such worldwide grief was felt for their losses, so many surviving death-eaters to be prosecuted. So many families left behind.   
  
By dusk the field had cleared, the new monument heaped in remembrances of the past. Albus is the last one left. He sees so many names he knows on the face of the granite slab. Some friends, some foes, and all he'd once known and cherished. So many bright stars winked out. Weasely, Creevey, Chang, Parkinson, Goyle, Macmillan, Black, Lestrange…  
  
At the top of the rock is where his gaze rests, unwavering.   
  
Harry Potter  
  
Draco Malfoy  
  
Tom Riddle  
  
Albus had insisted that the latter be included. He believed in mourning lost innocence and lost chances. So many had died. So many too young.   
  
-They should have lived.-  
  
The years weigh heavier now on Albus than ever before and soon he feels he will see his lost ones again in a place beyond. Perhaps Nicholas Flamel would be up for a chat?  
  
Albus dissapparates with a -POP- only seconds before the sky above opens and begins its own wet mourning.


End file.
